Love And Affection
by Thistle of Liberty
Summary: Sequel to "Sharp Stick Called Truth". Hotch is injured and doesn't tell Rossi. Rossi disapproves. WARNING! Contains non-sexual spanking of an adult.


**A/N:Written for _the little spanko's _prompt challenge. My prompt was "injury".  
><strong>

**This takes place a few months or so after "Sharp Stick Called Truth", so before "Not Flesh and Blood".  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.<em>

_- Buddha_

* * *

><p>Hotch honestly hadn't expected it to be a problem. It wasn't as if they were going to run a marathon or anything. He had functioned with busted ribs before. Going out into the field shouldn't have put any strain on the injury.<p>

No matter how much he told himself that, however, he couldn't ignore the searing pain that was making him clutch his chest and so close to throwing up that he wanted nothing but to pass out. Because it _hurt_.

As he'd been about to handcuff their UnSub, the man seemed to decide that he had nothing to lose and planted his elbow right in Hotch's ribcage. Which a day before had been brutally assaulted by two street thugs that apparently weren't too fond of the FBI.

For a moment Hotch hadn't actually registered any pain; he had heard the sickening sound of bone creaking, but he had felt nothing but the throbbing pain from before. A split second afterward, however, he could feel nothing _but_ pain.

A burning, searing pain that brought small stars to his eyes and caused bile to rise in his throat.

He wasn't aware he had fallen to his knees, but he must have, because as the pain subsided and he opened his eyes, Rossi was crouching in front of him, his hands on Hotch's arms and his eyes both frightened and surprised. Hotch looked up at him, blinking away the tears that had appeared in his eyes, and tried to speak only to find that his throat wouldn't cooperate.

Before he had really time to grasp what was happening, Rossi had undone his vest and was pulling it off of him, then unbuttoning his shirt and pushing up his undershirt, gently revealing Hotch's torso.

Immediately, the older man's face turned from being mainly concerned to being somewhat concerned, but mostly very angry. Following his gaze, Hotch too looked down at his chest.

It was more or less entirely covered in bruises of varying shades, mostly of blues and blacks. Hotch winced. It hadn't looked that bad last time he checked, which was… yesterday. He hadn't gotten any sleep last night and hadn't bothered to change. With some apprehension, he looked up at Rossi, gaining confirmation that the man was in fact very pissed.

"Care to tell me how you got those?" Rossi asked, deceptively calm. "And why I didn't know about them?"

"Eh…" was all Hotch managed to get out, because he had a strong feeling that the real answer wouldn't be appreciated. Because Rossi had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to know everything there was to know about Hotch's health, at all times. Fortunately, Rossi didn't seem too intent on getting an answer just now and instead roughly grabbed Hotch's arm.

"Get up," he ordered and Hotch had no choice but obey as he was basically dragged by the arm. Then Rossi turned to the policemen crowding the scene – who must have, Hotch realized, apprehended the UnSub after Hotch had fallen – and gave them some curt orders. "Arrest him. We're out of here for medical. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Get in the car," he then ordered Hotch, his voice still far too tense for Hotch to want to argue with him. Rossi didn't speak as he too got in, started the car and took off, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road and managing to convey enough disapproval that Hotch wanted to disappear through his seat. He'd obviously messed up.

"Where're we going?" he mustered up the courage to ask after a while, but got no answer but a long look from Rossi, clearly telling him to shut up. He did, sliding deeper down into the seat and turning his head to look out the window. The car was silent for several minutes, leaving Hotch with plenty of time to come up with several scenarios for what was about to happen next, none of which were appealing, before Rossi spoke, his voice still full of anger.

"Did you get you ribs checked out at all?" he asked. For a moment, Hotch debated lying but quickly abandoned the idea. He probably wouldn't be able to pull it off. So instead he shook his head, throwing a sideways look at Rossi. The older man's mouth tightened at the admission, and he shook his head disapprovingly. "Do I want to know why?"

"I didn't think it was necessary," Hotch replied quietly. That obviously wasn't the right thing to say.

"Your ribs might very well be broken, Aaron!" Rossi snapped, "You didn't think it was _necessary_!"

Hotch closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "I didn't think they were damaged," he muttered.

"The pain didn't tip you off?"

This really wasn't going Hotch's way. His explanations were, if anything, making Rossi even angrier, so he decided to shut up, something which Rossi didn't seem to mind.

The rest of the car ride was silent and very tense, and Hotch found himself looking forward to reaching their destination despite having no idea what it was. It couldn't be worse than a silent car.

After ten minutes or so Rossi pulled up on a street lined with non-remarkable houses with well kept gardens and clean porches. Hotch didn't recognize the street, and his confusion at where they were going increased. He had expected to be taken to a doctor, but unless Rossi intended to barge in on a private practitioner at eight in the evening that was not the case.

"Get out", Rossi ordered and Hotch obeyed silently, really not wanting to antagonize the man. He followed slowly as Rossi stalked up to one of the houses and forcefully rang the bell before he threw the door open, only to find himself face to face with the owner of the house.

It was Alexandre Leroy, one of Rossi's friends who Hotch had a few times. He was an FBI agent and had worked with Rossi before the BAU. Now in counter-terrorism or something like that. He was French, and Hotch wasn't entirely sure just why he had abandoned his career in the French military and decided to join the FBI.

Hotch half expected some anger from the man, since his door had just been thrown open without an invitation, but Leroy did nothing but raise his eyebrows curiously.

"Dave..?" he said and stepped aside enough for Rossi to be able to enter, which the man did immediately at the same time as he pulled off his coat.

"Is Jo home?" he asked sharply. The other man's eyebrow climbed even higher at the, in Hotch's opinion, rather rude question.

"Yes", he said, "Why, are you hurt?"

A bit uncomfortable, Hotch noticed that at the same time as he was speaking to Rossi, his eyes were roaming over Hotch; obviously assessing the younger man.

"No, but he is," Rossi said, still angry, and jerked his head toward Hotch. This earned Hotch even closer scrutiny and he fought the urge to fidget as the man's eyes passed over him.

"She's in the shower," Leroy then said, "Want me to get her?"

Rossi sighed and pushed a hand through his hair with a grimace. "Nah… just tell her we're here?"

Leroy nodded. "Sure."

With that he left, leaving Hotch and Rossi in an uncomfortable silence, Hotch trying to decide whether he should step inside fully or not and Rossi just seething quietly. Rossi was obviously entirely at ease in the house, but Hotch hadn't been invited in and it went again all notions he had of manners to just enter a stranger's house. Fortunately, Rossi seemed to realize that he was still weighing on his feet in the doorway after a few moments, and turned to him with a frown.

"Get inside," he ordered, "Want to catch death from cold?"

Hotch obeyed, still a bit uncertain, and frowned at Rossi. "Dave…" he said, "Are you sure we should be disturbing them? I mean, it's just my ribs."

Rossi's mouth tightened again at that, and Hotch, also again, realized that he had said the wrong thing. He pointed to a spot right in front of him.

"Come here," he ordered sternly. Hotch obeyed uncertainly, taking an inordinate amount of time to take the two steps necessary to close the distance between himself and the older man, something which had been rather warranted, he realized, as his arm was gripped and Rossi turned him sideways before swatting his backside twice. Before Hotch had time to do anything more than glare accusingly at him at the same time as he blushed furiously, the man spoke.

"It's not _just_ your ribs, Aaron!" he snapped, "You're hurt, damn it! Besides, Alex doesn't mind."

Hotch didn't answer, because he was still trying to process this new development. Rossi had spanked him. Again, he might add. But the last time he had at least had some warning, and it had been in response to actually messing up, not saying something that displeased the man. Still with a probably very red face, Hotch turned to Rossi and hissed at him.

"You can't do that!"

Rossi raised his eyebrows. "I just did, kid," he said. Hotch kept glaring.

"What if they heard?" he protested with a wary glance toward the interior of the house.

"What if?" Rossi countered, "You think what Alex heard about you is limited to your pretty face?"

Hotch's frown deepened, and he crossed his arms. "You told him that you… that you… did _that_ to me?"

He wanted to sound accusing, and he probably managed to some degree, but his stammer as he was trying to find a way to refer to what Rossi had done without using the actual word made it difficult and he had a feeling he ended up sounding more like a complaining kid.

"Yeah, I did," Rossi said, and as Hotch had expected he sounded completely unrepentant, "and as soon as he comes back I am going to tell him just why I'm going to do it again!"

Hotch wanted very badly to argue the man's idea of doing _that_ to him again, but before he had time Leroy showed up in the doorway leading into the house and gave the two of them a curious look.

"Do what again?" he asked. To Hotch's relief, Rossi just waved his hand dismissively.

"Nothing," he said, "Is Jo done?"

For a moment Leroy looked as if he would press the issue, but then he shrugged philosophically. "Soon," he replied, "She said she'd be with us in a few minutes. Have you had dinner?"

Rossi shook his head and at Leroy's small gesture he followed the man into the house, Hotch following behind. The passed through a spacious living room and then into the kitchen, which was also large but rather cluttered by newspapers, magazines and books. Their host waved a fleeting hand in the general direction of the table, and after seeing Rossi doing so first, Hotch took a seat; his posture rigid and his eyes trained on Leroy who was busily whirling around the kitchen, probably getting out ingredients.

"Lasagna okay with you?" he asked over his shoulder. Hotch glanced at Rossi, unsure who the question was directed at.

"Sure," Rossi replied. After that the room lapsed into silence, which was, at least for Hotch, very uncomfortable. Rossi was obviously angry with him, and he probably deserved it to some degree, but this silence was making it more and more difficult not to fidget, and it made Hotch extremely uncomfortable. Hotch usually didn't mind silence; as a child, silence had always been better than the alternative, and he was never the one to break the icy silences that Haley sometimes subjected him to. But Rossi's silence was unnerving, and it was only made more pronounced by their host's activity.

Thankfully, they were soon interrupted by a new arrival, who Hotch assumed was Jo. She was a small woman of the same age as Leroy, a bit rotund, with a pretty face and brown hair pulled up into a bun on the top of her head. As she entered, she smiled brightly at Hotch.

"Hello," she said, "I'm told I have a patient?"

The last was a question to all three of them, Hotch supposed, but her gaze was fixed on him and remembering his manners he rose quickly, stretching out a hand which the woman took in a firm grip.

"It's nothing really…" he began dismissively, but Rossi cut him off.

"He has damaged ribs. They might be broken."

The woman tilted her head and made a sympathetic sound, looking Hotch up and down without letting go of his hand.

"Well, I'll have a look," she said, "I'm Dr. Joanne Leroy, by the way."

She didn't pronounce her name the French way and her accent was entirely American – local in fact, unless Hotch was mistaken. Hotch gave her what he hoped was a charming smile, still entertaining a small hope that he would get out of an examination.

"Aaron Hotchner," he said, "Hotch."

The woman seemed genuinely pleased at his smile and for a moment Hotch's hopes lifted. Then she spoke.

"And how did you get hurt?"

How was he supposed to answer that with Rossi in the room? Saying that he had been assaulted by suspects, without telling anyone, would only make the man angrier. Rossi had probably already figured it out, but confirming it was completely different.

"She can tell by the injuries if you're lying," Rossi said, apparently interpreting his hesitation for what it was.

"Two men I was interviewing apparently didn't like the FBI," Hotch replied quietly, sneaking a glance at Rossi. The man looked very disapproving and for a moment the stupid urge to apologize made it itself known to Hotch, but he quickly quelled it. He _had_ made the right decision.

"You arrest them?" Rossi asked. Hotch nodded his head. "Press charges?"

Hotch shrugged. "What'd be the point?" he asked, "They were just kids trying to be tough."

"The _point_ would be…" Rossi began angrily, his voice on the edge of shouting, but he broke off and shook his head instead. "We _will_ talk about what the point would be. Now go with Jo. And if you lie about anything to her…"

The older man didn't need to add a threat; the intention carried through clearly anyways and Hotch studied the man intently for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what the unspoken threat was. Instinctively, his mind reeled back to the day some months ago when the older man had spanked him, and he realized that it was exactly the same tone Rossi had used back then. And despite hating himself for it, that made Hotch blush and direct his gaze to the ground.

"Got it," he mumbled. He looked up to see Jo smiling softly at him, which only deepened his blush. It was embarrassing enough to be scolded like a child in private; in front of a woman he didn't know it was ten times worse.

"Come on, then," she said, "I'll take you to the guestroom."

With her hand on his arm she guided him out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into a small bedroom. Hotch followed her quietly, trying not to show his discomfort at her hand on his arm. He was ushered into the room with a small push on his back, and feeling a bit like either a child or a sheep Hotch could only stand silently as she closed the door behind them.

"Your ribs, correct?" Jo asked, and her voice had lost some of the gentleness it had held before, replaced by efficiency and professionalism. Hotch nodded. "Okay. Take off your shirt."

Hotch hesitated. He wasn't really shy, and being examined by doctors wasn't usually a problem. He hated it, but he could handle it. But this was a complete stranger who had just been shoved into his life without warning. He had no idea who she was, and the idea of stripping in front of her was very uncomfortable.

"I _am_ a doctor," the woman said reassuringly as Hotch simply stood silently looking at her, "There's no need to be uncomfortable. Do you want me to get Dave?"

That brought a blush to Hotch's face and he shook his head decisively. He was a grown man and he did not need Rossi to come and hold his hand because a doctor wanted to examine his ribs.

"No, thank you," he said politely, but decided to make on final attempt at getting out of this, because he really didn't want to be prodded like a prize animal. He flashed her a smile. "Besides, this really isn't necessary. Dave overreacted; I just have a few bruises."

Jo smiled slightly and raised her eyebrows. "Really?" she said, "Let me have a look. Just take off your shirt and undershirt and then you can wear the shirt open while I examine you, okay?"

Although it was annoying that she tried to placate him with compromises, as if he was a boy that needed to be promised a lollipop to let his mother wash his scraped knee, Hotch considered the offer. Rossi would be angry if he didn't allow himself to be examined, and Hotch strongly suspected that Rossi being angry would lead to something he had no wish to dwell on. Besides, Rossi had seemed sure that he had damaged ribs, and the pain after the UnSub's blow had been intense enough to make Hotch believe that it was probably true. And he was an adult who wasn't afraid of being examined by doctors.

"All right," he said and nimbly undid the buttons on his shirt, waiting until Jo discreetly looked away to take it off, followed by his undershirt. Then he put the shirt on again, leaving it open, and hesitantly cleared his throat.

Jo turned around and when she saw his admittedly rather bad-looking chest she shook her head disapprovingly.

"Those are at least a day of days old," she said, "Have you had them checked out?"

Hotch shook his head, which earned him another shake of the head and a sigh, actually causing him to blush slightly. "All right," she said, but the tone of her voice convinced Hotch that it was very far from all right, "Do you want to sit down?"

Again, Hotch shook his head, because he would prefer it if he was at least taller than her as she prodded him. Fortunately, she didn't press the issue and as Hotch stood stiffly she walked closer to him.

"I will start by feeling your lowest ribs and then I will move upwards," Jo explained softly, "Tell me if it hurts too much."

Her hand were warm and soft, but despite the gentleness of her touch Hotch hissed as her fingers felt his ribs, swiftly moving over them. She looked to be deep in concentration as she moved upwards, and soon she reached the most painful area and a small gasp escaped Hotch.

"Is it okay?" she asked and Hotch nodded, not quite trusting his voice after the sudden onset of pain. Jo continued the examination, moving her hands quickly, and after hardly more than a minute she was done.

"Well, I'd say you've fractured a couple of ribs. You'll need to get them x-rayed, okay? Where else does it hurt?

Hotch shrugged. "Nowhere, really," he lied easily. He had already been prodded enough for the day, and he was pretty sure he wasn't actually injured anywhere else since the pain was more of a dull ache than the fierce pain in his ribs.

"Should I get Dave?" Jo asked, raising her eyebrows and managing to make the question sound casual at the same time as the threat was quite clear. Hotch lowered his eyes and sighed.

"I'm just bruised all over," he said, "Nothing hurts very bad and I can move everything."

For a moment she studied him intently, head slightly tilted and lips pursed, but then she nodded her acceptance of his words.

"All right", she said, "Let's go down again. I have some painkillers in the kitchen."

Once again Hotch followed her obediently, this time without her hand on his arm. He would protest the painkillers once they were in the kitchen, because surely Rossi would back him up. Drugs might affect his work performance, and the older agent wouldn't want that.

Not that he seemed very concerned with work at the moment though, Hotch realized as they entered the kitchen. Someone had produced a bottle of scotch and both men were leisurely drinking in silence, Rossi looking rather despondent and Leroy looking rather bored. When Joanne entered they looked up, similar curious expressions on their faces.

"You were right, Dave," Joanne announced, "A few fractured ribs. You should get them x-rayed tomorrow. Alex, get me the box with medicine, will you?"

Leroy nodded and rose, moving over to one of the cupboards at the same time as his wife eyed the bottle of scotch critically. Before she had time to say anything, though, Leroy handed a metal box to her. Jo opened it and after ruffling through it for a few moments she handed one to Hotch, followed by a glass of water. Hotch flashed her a smile, declining the glass with a hand gesture.

"I'd rather not have any painkillers, ma'am," he said politely. Arguing with his hostess might not be the smartest move if he wanted to be liked in this house, but he didn't want to take pills either.

"It's to ease your breathing," Jo explained, frowning at him, "so you don't develop any illness in your lungs."

He flashed her a smile. "I can breathe just fine," he said.

"Take the pill," Rossi ordered sharply before Joanne had time to answer that. Hotch frowned and glared at the man.

"I said I'd rather not," he said, making his voice as hard as he dared. Rossi raised his eyebrows, his expression somewhat incredulous.

"I said you should," he said. Hotch didn't relent; just kept glaring at his older colleague, and therefore almost missing the meaningful glance that passed between Leroy and his wife. But even if he had caught it entirely, he didn't think he would have been able to interpret it. Leroy then glanced at Rossi, and the two looked at each other for a moment, before Rossi nodded slightly.

"I think we should go for a walk, ma chèrie," Leroy announced and Joanne immediately smiled her compliance, holding out her arm for Leroy to take as he walked over to her. "Are you two staying the night?"

The last was directed at Rossi, who nodded. "Think so, yeah," he said.

Their hosts left, and Hotch found himself alone with Rossi, who was rubbing his temple tiredly.

"Sit down, Aaron," he ordered and now his voice had lost all traces of anger, but that only made Hotch more nervous. Because anger he could at least defend himself from. But he obeyed, taking a seat on the edge of the chair farthest from Rossi, sitting very straightly and eyeing the older man warily. "Do you understand why I'm upset?"

Hotch did, in a way. He had known that Rossi would want to know that he had been hurt, even if he honestly hadn't thought it was a serious injury. But he wasn't about to admit that, because Rossi was far more upset than the situation warranted and he didn't understand that. He shook his head.

"No, I don't," he said, "I realize that you're interested in what might affect my work performance, but it was really just bad luck that the UnSub got a hit in on me. Before that you didn't notice anything, and therefore my injuries can't have been detrimental to my work…"

He trailed off, because Rossi's face had regained the expression of anger and the look he was giving Hotch was one you would give someone who tried to tell you the world was flat.

"You think this is about your _work performance_?" Rossi ground out disbelievingly. The tone in his voice was enough to make Hotch go back over his words, trying to figure out if there had been anything that warranted such clear disregard for them, and he found himself backtracking slightly.

"Well, no, I mean… that is…" he stammered, his face heating at the hard stare Rossi was giving him. He sighed. "Yes?"

Rossi shook his head slowly. "I thought I managed to explain this…" he muttered.

"Explain what?" Hotch demanded.

"That I care about you!" Rossi snapped back. Hotch frowned and gave him a curious glance.

"You explained it," he said, "I understand. But I wasn't risking my life, Dave. It's just a couple of ribs. They'll heal in a month."

Again, that obviously hadn't been the right thing to say, if the tightening of Rossi's mouth was anything to go by. Deciding that some sort of acquiescence was probably the best option at this point, Hotch dipped his head.

"All right," he said calmly, "I should have told you. I'm sorry I didn't."

Rossi sighed and shook his head slowly. "No, you're not," he said gently, tilting his head. Hotch frowned and opened his mouth to argue but Rossi continued before he had time. "You're sorry I'm upset. You don't give a damn about the fact that you're hurt."

Hotch sighed as well. They seemed to be doing that a lot. "I'm not that hurt," he argued, but to his growing confusion Rossi only looked more annoyed at his words.

"Aaron," the older man said slowly, "You have busted ribs. You're hurt."

His confusion growing, Hotch shrugged helplessly as he spread his hands. What did Rossi want him to say? It wasn't as if Hotch didn't know he was hurt; he just didn't see what the big deal was. Broken ribs weren't dangerous, just painful.

"Look, Dave, I know how hurt I am," he said, "and I also know that it's nothing dangerous."

The incredulousness on Rossi's face grew and he shook his head. "Aaron…" he began again, but then he trailed off, giving Hotch the impression that he didn't know what to say. Maybe Hotch had managed to make his point. Although the disbelief on Rossi's face made that sort of unlikely.

"Do you really not understand why it's important that you tell me when you're hurt?"

The older man sounded almost hesitant, as if he was unsure how to broach this subject. Hotch considered how to answer, since Rossi seemed to think it was so important and apparently also thought that Hotch was on a completely different page than he.

"I understand that it's important that I tell you if there's something that might affect me in the field or if it might be a threat to my wellbeing," Hotch said slowly. To be honest he wasn't entirely sure about the last one, but Rossi had made it clear that Hotch's health was his business, "But this is neither. I mean… bruised ribs hurt, but they're not dangerous."

Tilting his head with a sad expression, Rossi shook his head slightly. "Damn it, Aaron," he said, this time without any anger; just sadness. For a while he was silent, just looking at Hotch who was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable under the close scrutiny, "I don't want you to be in pain, all right? Can you accept that?"

Of course he could accept that. It wasn't as if Hotch himself wanted to be in pain; he just didn't think it was that big a deal if he was. Work was more important, especially when they were on a case.

"Sure…" he agreed, still a bit hesitant, "I don't want to be in pain, either. But…"

Rossi broke him off with a raised palm. "No buts. So we both agree that most pain is bad, yeah?"

After a moment's hesitation, Hotch nodded, even though he wasn't sure where Rossi was going with this.

"And busted ribs hurt, agreed?" Rossi continued. Hotch gave another nod. "So we don't want busted ribs, right?"

Trying to force down the irritation at being spoken to like a child, Hotch nodded in concession. Apparently Rossi seemed to think that this was something he needed to explain like he was talking to a child, so Hotch supposed that maybe it might be something important. Or at least something Rossi thought was important.

"And if you do hurt your ribs, we both want them to be fixed, right?" Rossi said and Hotch nodded again, "And then you have to tell me. You have to tell me if you're hurt. Do you understand?"

Hotch hesitated. Because he didn't really get it, or at least he wasn't sure he did. So Rossi didn't want him to be in pain. He wanted to know when Hotch was hurt so he could prevent it. But Hotch still didn't really understand why it mattered so much. He didn't understand why Rossi seemed so upset that Hotch wasn't heartbroken over a few bruised ribs.

"You don't have to. Understand, I mean," Rossi added after a moment, maybe seeing Hotch's uncertainty, "As long as you promise me that you'll tell me when you're hurt, it's okay if you don't understand why. And you will understand, sooner or later."

For some reason Hotch was relieved at this; relieved that Rossi didn't expect something he couldn't give. Because Hotch was pretty sure that he _didn't_ understand what Rossi wanted him to, and this was something he didn't want to lie about. Mostly because he didn't want to lie to Rossi about anything.

"All right. I promise to tell you when I'm hurt."

They lapsed into silence after that, Rossi looking deep in thought and Hotch mostly apprehensive about what would happen now. The older man _had_ said that he would… well, do _that _again.

So after a while he cleared his throat. "Dave…" he ventured nervously, lowering his eyes to look at his hands instead of Rossi, "Are you… I mean… are you going to… you know… do _that_?"

"That's what I'm thinking about," Rossi said, nodding, "I mean… I'm not going to punish you for something you didn't know was wrong, but I _have_ told you that I expect to know what's going on with you. So yeah, I'm going to punish you, but only for keeping this from me. How's the pain?"

Hotch shrugged. "Okay. I think those were pretty strong painkillers."

Rossi gave a small smile. "Benefits of having a doctor friend," he said, then immediately turned serious again, "Okay. Come here."

Nervously, Hotch rose and slowly closed the distance between him and Rossi, who was now also standing up. He gulped, feeling the blood leaving his face and his lips slowly going slightly numb. Was this really happening? Sure, the last time hadn't really been that bad, but… well, he was nervous. Because as much as he trusted Rossi this was uncomfortable.

"Bend over the table," Rossi ordered and then, probably seeing the difficulty in doing this with the table as covered in both opened and unopened post as it was, he swept away a large portion of it and then gestured to the table again, "Okay now."

Hotch obeyed uncertainly, putting his hands on the edge of the table and then turning his head to give Rossi a questioning look. Last time he'd been bent down considerably lower over an armrest, but how was he supposed to do it now?

Giving him an encouraging smile, Rossi shook his head and corrected his position; pushing him down farther so his forearms were resting on the table.

"You okay?" he then asked gently, and Hotch couldn't help but think it was a pretty strange question to ask considering the position they were in. Was he supposed to be okay? He was about to be _spanked_, for God's sake. Although, strangely enough, he sort of was okay anyways. At least he wasn't not okay.

"Yeah. Sure," he said, his voice only slightly reminiscent of a croak.

"Good," was all Rossi said before he brought down his hand with a loud smack. He didn't pause for even a second before he brought his hand down again, and after that he continued rhythmically, not giving Hotch any time to get used to the sting before more was added. And it wasn't as of Rossi was really being very hard on him – he was using his _hand_, for God's sake – but for some reason he couldn't quite keep from squirming; couldn't quite take this like the grown man he actually was.

When Hotch could no longer keep his breathing quite as even as he'd like and his eyes were beginning to glass over, Rossi spoke. "Tell me why I'm spanking you."

Swallowing down the sounds of distress that wanted to escape him, Hotch answered. "Because… I didn't tell you I was hurt?"

"Yep. Very good," Rossi praised him and Hotch to admit that he did feel quite relieved at the confirmation that he'd gotten it right. He wasn't sure what to say if Rossi kept asking question, though.

"And do you know why you need to tell me when you're hurt?" Rossi asked, but he didn't wait for Hotch's answer before he continued, "It's because I care about you. You understand?"

Hotch nodded, not quite trusting his voice. Because this hurt, and Rossi hadn't been at it even close to as long as he had last time. And it shouldn't really be that bad, but it was just that the sting never abated; just grew and grew until the tears in Hotch's eyes escaped and he dug his fingers into his arms.

"Verbal answer," Rossi demanded and after swallowing a few times, Hotch obeyed.

"I understand," he said and then added, "I'm sorry, Dave."

Rossi didn't answer and before long a small whimper escaped Hotch as he furiously buried his face in his arms. Stupid tears.

Then, luckily, Rossi finally spoke. "Next time you get hurt, you tell me straight away. Got it?"

Drawing a breath that was almost a sob, Hotch nodded furiously into his arms. "Got it."

And to Hotch's great relief Rossi seemed to take that as a cue to stop, for a moment letting Hotch remain bent over the table before he guided him up to standing again with a hand on his shoulder. Before he had time to say anything, Hotch was pulled into a tight hug, which was really just as well since he didn't really want to show Rossi his by now tear streaked face.

"It's okay, kiddo," Rossi muttered, his gruff voice a low soothing murmur, "Everything's all right now. You're okay. There's a good boy..."

"'M not a boy," Hotch protested, even though he kind of just maybe a little bit liked the praise, his voice a bit muffled by Rossi's shoulder, "'M an adult."

"'Course you are," Rossi retorted, decidedly unconvinced, before he tightened his embrace and moved a hand to squeeze Hotch's neck comfortingly. For a while they remained as they were, Rossi's arms wrapped around Hotch comfortingly. After a couple of minutes he loosened his hold and pushed Hotch away to arm's length, tilting his head in question.

"You okay to go get washed up now?"

Hotch nodded, wiping away some stray tears. "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat, "Just… show me to the bathroom?"

"Up the stairs and straight to the left," Rossi replied, "Come on down again when you're done."

Nodding, Hotch swiped his hand over his eyes a final time before heading up the stairs, quickly finding the bathroom. He grimaced slightly as he caught his reflection in the mirror; slightly puffy, red rimmed eyes. It looked as if he had been crying, and with a dissatisfied frown he turned on the tap and bent down to rinse his face, wincing a little at the movement.

For a while he let the cool water run, letting it soothe his gritty eyes and hopefully making it less obvious that he had been crying. He dried off his face with one of the towels and with a final assessing look in the mirror he pushed a hand through his hair before heading down again.

Rossi was still alone downstairs, the Leroys nowhere to be seen, busy doing what was probably preparing dinner. Hotch gave him a weak smile.

"They aren't back yet?"

"They're probably on the front porch," Rossi replied, looking very pleased at the idea, "Go get them, would you?"

Hotch hesitated, frowning slightly. "Dave..?" he ventured quietly, then continued at the older man's encouraging nod, "I've been crying."

"I know," Rossi replied, smirking slightly, "They won't care. They'll probably expect it, to be honest."

"You've told them?" Hotch demanded, trying to sound accusing. Rossi nodded, looking completely unaffected by Hotch's tone, and moved over to chop onions.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I?" he asked, but as he saw Hotch's incredulous and angry expression he sighed and continued, "Remember I told you about my old boss? Well, he was Alex's boss as well."

It took a split second before Hotch caught on to what Rossi was saying, but then his eyes widened slightly in surprise. "You mean… your boss… punished him?"

That was a very strange thought. Because… well, people didn't just get spanked. At least not ex-French military turned FBI agents that Hotch might just admire a little bit.

"Sure. He says Stark was harder on him than on me, but I'm not convinced," Rossi said with a quick smile before nodding his head toward the front door again, "Go on now. Don't want our gracious hosts to freeze."

Hotch gave another weak smile before obeying and heading for the door. As Rossi had predicted, the couple were seated on the porch and Hotch felt a pang of guilt. And embarrassment. Coming over and taking over someone's house, leaving them sitting out in the cold, wasn't exactly good manners. Not to mention that it wasn't exactly a good way to start off a relationship, and since these people were so important to Rossi he wanted to make a good impression.

Not that the couple looked too unhappy or uncomfortable, though; they were sitting side to side with their arms around each other and laughing quietly at something. When Hotch hesitantly opened the door, after a brief debate about whether it was appropriate to knock when you were _exiting_ a house, they both turned their heads to look at him.

"Took you long enough," Leroy remarked, dusting off his pants as he got up, then helped his wife up. Hotch blushed and directed his gaze to the ground, starting to mumble an apology. Leroy broke him off with a wave, "Never mind."

"How's the pain?" Jo asked, giving him an assessing once-over. Hotch shrugged.

"Okay. And I'm sorry about being, eh… un-cooperative before."

Jo gave a kind smile, giving his shoulder a light pat. "That's all right, honey."

To his growing embarrassment Hotch felt his cheeks heat even more. "Honey"? He wasn't a child. He was a grown man and he did not need to be called endearments to reassure him.

"Hey!" Rossi's voice interrupted any further conversation, "You gonna stay out there all evening or are you gonna help me cook?"

Leroy rolled his eyes, but entered the house and headed for the kitchen. Jo gave Hotch a final assessing look before she followed him, as did Hotch. In the kitchen Rossi was already stirring something in a saucepan and Leroy walked up to his shoulder and peered down, looking slightly skeptical.

"Which oil did you use?" he demanded. Rossi turned his head to give him an exasperated look.

"Grape seed," he replied, and at Leroy's slight frown he spread his arms and continued, "It's what my mom used."

The Frenchman didn't look entirely convinced, but he shrugged anyway and moved over to the fridge. "I'll get onto the Béchamel. You want cheese in it?"

"It's called Mornay if it's cheese in it," Rossi remarked with a smirk, which earned him an eye-roll but no reply.

At this gap in the conversation, Hotch, up to this point having weighed on his feet in the background, cleared his throat and spoke up. "Do you want help with something?"

To be entirely honest he had absolutely no idea if he knew enough to help with anything, but he felt that since he was a guest in this house he should at least offer. Leroy glanced at Rossi in question, who shook his head with a small smile.

"Nah. Why don't you head up and take a nap before dinner?"

Feeling that this was probably not the time to argue with Rossi, especially in front of others, Hotch nodded. "Sure. Uhm… where?"

"I'll show you," Rossi said, putting a guiding hand on Hotch's shoulder and leading him up the stairs, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Hotch replied dismissively. He was, he supposed, but he had no particular wish to further analyze his state of mind, "But… well, should I really stay for dinner? I mean… we just… barged in on them. And you know them, but I'm just… a stranger."

"That's why you're staying for dinner," Rossi replied cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder, "So you won't be a stranger anymore. Besides, you're more of an acquaintance anyway. And Alex likes you."

"He's met me three times, Dave."

Rossi shrugged. "Well, he's obviously a good judge of character. Get some rest now."

After taking off his jacket, Hotch obediently crept under the covers that Rossi held up, feeling like a kid but deciding that he didn't really care at the moment. He grimaced as his behind made contact with the bed, even if the sting had already abated a little, but didn't turn because of his ribs.

"We'll call you down for dinner. Should be about an hour."

Nodding, Hotch pulled up the covers to his chin. Rossi didn't leave, through; remaining standing beside Hotch's bed and looking down at him with a thoughtful expression. Hotch, a bit flustered at the intense study, raised his eyebrows in question.

"I do this because I care about you," Rossi said in reply, sounding very sincere, and reached over to push back the hair from Hotch's forehead, "Remember that."

With a small, hesitant smile and a half-frown, Hotch nodded. "Uh… yeah, sure."

Rossi's smile only widened at his hesitant response, even if it looked a bit melancholy.

"We'll work on it," he said, before ruffling Hotch's hair, completely undoing his work of pushing it back, and left.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review. :)**


End file.
